The Way We Were
by Miguel Artadi
Summary: Jameron AU Futurefic. Complete. As John fights to keep the burden of leadership from overwhelming him, Cameron struggles with the ramifications of her continuing evolution.
1. Our Own Little Heaven

**The Way We Were**

**Part 1: Our Own Little Heaven**

Disclaimer: I don't own the terminator franchise. Wish I did.

* * *

"Cam?"

"Yes John?" she replied looking up, her chocolate eyes shining brilliant blue for the fleetest moment like they always did when answering his call.

"You done with those? Ready for the condensed sit-rep yet?" John nodded to the mess of papers occupying her table: reports containing notes and figures of all sorts, memos from field officers, casualty lists, suspected terminator factories and whatnot.

"Almost. I just finished decrypting Derek's god awful handwriting so I'm only approximately 87 percent done, give or take a 2 percent margin of error."

John chuckled at the thought of his uncle, General Derek Baum. They had agreed on the surname early in the war to mask his true identity from his younger, future self. In time the battle hardened soldier had matured into the role of Tech-Com Field Commander almost perfectly, second only to Connor himself in terms of military strategy and cunning. His experience in two wars (the result of living through Judgment Day a second time) proved invaluable in the field where circumstances called for split-second decisions, saving men in his command from certain death and snatching victory from the face of overwhelming odds numerous times. John's biggest issue with him was that curiously, none of the missions he personally led brought back any endoskeletal salvage fit for refit and subsequent reprogramming, which taking into account everything the man has been through, was understandable.. though a bit wasteful in John's eyes.

Additionally, Derek still had some lingering issues with the fact that Cameron was with John 24/7, blissfully unaware that she practically ran half the show. He was uncomfortable with the cyborg barely leaving his side for any more than a lingering moment and yet refused to even consider the ramifications of what that particular situation implied. However, the machine in question having saved his life (not to mention his nephew's) more than a handful of times before Judgment Day and during the early days of the resistance had softened him up a bit, smelting his white-hot hostility of her into a begrudging tolerance of sorts. John had even caught him addressing Cameron by name several odd times, resulting in an almost humorous silence between the three of them while the peculiarity of the moment hit home. Yes, John thought, such was the nature of the world's smallest miracles in this living hell they were fighting so hard to get out of. Or maybe his uncle was just getting old. Hell, they were all getting old.

Except for Cameron. She was still... well Cameron, ironically the one thing, no... the one _person_ in Connor's life who had served as an anchor for his humanity through the insanity of the war. Though physically the beauty of her features hadn't aged a day since their time in school, much else was different. Her capacity to learn had grown exponentially throughout the years, eventually bypassing her original programming. A spark of sentience brought along by the horrors of Judgment Day had, in time begat her the ability to experience genuine emotion; emotion far removed from the mimicry that other infiltrators used to fulfill their murderous objectives.

In the years that followed she had felt joy and sorrow, John remembering so vividly how tightly she had clung to him the first time the tears fell. He had comforted her then, stroking her hair while she sobbed, their roles reversed, the protector becoming the protected for a time. As she matured emotionally, so did the depth of the love she had for him grow as well, once kissing him with such unbridled desire that John's lips were sore for days. This newfound passion also translated into a blind, searing hatred for those who sought to do him harm: Cameron once pulverizing the head of a T-800 that had wounded her man with a lucky ricochet into scrap metal. Armed only with a bar of coltan and furious vengeance, the servos in her arms continually hammered away at the enemy, azure eyes burning hot with rage until the grinning death's head of the endoskeleton was no more.

After these came the more complex building blocks of the human persona: learning to laugh and more importantly, the process of figuring out what to laugh at, and of course what NOT to laugh at was awkward at first. This was followed by a growing fondness for sarcasm. Finally even jealousy reared its ugly head; he couldn't believe it at first, but John still shuddered at the memory of him frantically explaining to a near-irrational, blue-eyed monster of the importance of the other females in Tech-Com high command. Yet no matter how 'human' she had become with John, the machine in her was never made obsolete, for to the rest of the world at large she continued to act like the rest of her kind: a cold, unfeeling, hellspun hyper-alloyed messenger of death.

Smiling at the thought, John wouldn't have had it any other way.

"I fail to find the humor in this.. chickenscratch." she piped in, jolting John from his train of thought. She eyed him and the offending memo alternately, her brow furrowing in consternation. "Anyway Derek wants you to know that sector 04A is clear of hostiles, and that the hunter-killer assembly line there has been razed to the ground."

"As expected. Good." John looked up. "What else?"

"Human casualties have fallen dramatically this week, only two combat-related deaths. Reprogrammed terminator casualties are up 42 percent. However these numbers may be misleading, since up to 80 percent of the fallen metal have their chips still in serviceable condition."

Metal. Since becoming self-aware, Cameron always made a point to differentiate herself from the others of her kind. Referring to them as 'metal' was simply one of the more subtle ways.

"Excellent. How about the veterans? How are they doing?"

"Charlie-Romeo squad reports one unit temporarily out of commission and another with minimal damage; overall performance is at 377 percent compared to the others."

Charlie-Romeo squad was one of Cameron's pet projects which of course, John had to pass off as his own: a handful of reprogrammed infiltrators with their chips set to learning mode subsequently unleashed against their creator, Skynet. The idea was that if any member of the squad was to fall with their CPU still intact (as was usually the case), it would be a simple matter to have their chips recovered and re-inserted into freshly captured endoskeletons; allowing them to continually learn from their mistakes and thus, make them more effective machine-killers.

Unsurprisingly, Derek was vehemently against the idea at first, balking at the thought of metal given free reign on the battlefield without a human commander, most especially concerned about them 'going bad' at the worst possible moments. John countered that these veterans had been with them for months now, and that all the ones that go rogue usually do so within a few days after reprogramming. His uncle then suggested that Cameron could lead the team herself, a suggestion to which John had simply replied "Good idea, I'll lead it with her." This in turn, ended the argument.

"John? You're drifting off again, is everything okay?" Cameron said as she looked at him and walked over, concern for her man etched on her face.

"I'm fine. Sorry. Where were we..." John rubbed his eyes, sensing the weight shift on his makeshift couch as Cameron sat down beside him, feeling her hand on his.

He laughed. "Cam... you don't have to scan me. I said I was fine okay?" Squeezing her hand, he added "Don't worry, I'm just a little worse for the wear."

John brought her hand up to his lips and kissed it. "Yeah so how about CPU-chassis compatibility issues? Wasn't one of the vets originally an early T-600 series? We ended up sticking him in that T-888 endo that shot him up in the first place. "

"No. No problems. It only needed an additional 20.29 seconds to adapt to the unfamiliar chassis on initial boot-up." she replied, wrapping her arm around him and pulling him close.

John shot her a quick look. "Hey I wonder what would happen if we tried sticking you in one of the bigger combat models; it'd be fun to see you do your de-frag routine in those." he remarked teasingly.

"Oh very funny. Don't be a freak. Ballet is not de-fragging. It helps me sort things out, maintain a balance with the information and emotion I've gathered and experienced throughout the day."

Ah yes, her ballet. John still remembered the first time he saw her dance, catching a glimpse of her through a half-open door in their old house. Silently in the darkness he had stood transfixed by the sensual beauty and grace of her movements, the room's soft light illuminating the suppleness of her skin as she turned and swayed. His mind reeled at the sight, yet his body refused to move...

Cameron, sensing her John's mental and physical fatigue changed the subject. "Would you like it if I danced for you right now?"

Connor smiled. "You know what? Yes Cam, I think I'd like that very much."

Their solemn time together was broken by the crackle of the intercom. "Commander?"

John groaned and slapped his forehead. "Duty calls." Briskly, he made a beeline to the heavily reinforced blast door that separated his and Cameron's own little world from the hell outside. Taking a deep breath, he cleared his mind, and in an instant donned the weight of the world on his shoulders. Again, he was the living legend: John Connor, the modern-day messiah of humanity.

He keyed the microphone and barked gruffly. "This better be important Private. I gave VERY explicit instructions I wasn't to be bothered for the next few hours, unless you specifically enjoy being assigned latrine duty." Looking over to where Cameron still sat, he noticed her rolling her eyes and shaking her head.

The voice stammered. "Ye.. yes sir... I mean no sir I don't enjoy latrine duty sir.. but I uh, I understand that... I mean you also gave standing orders that you should be notified immediately in case any of our teams..."

A light went off in his head. Cutting him off immediately, he keyed the mic again. "You're saying one of our teams recovered a TOK-715??"

"No sir... the other one. The uh, the techs said it was a... uh" John could hear paper rustling through the intercom speaker.

John was growing impatient. "Speak up soldier."

"Sir.. they said.. that it's a T-850 Series Model 101."

* * *

Author's Notes:

Just in case you folks didn't know, TOK-715 is basically Cameron's model number. And the T-850 Series, Model 101 is Arnold's official designation in the third movie, Terminator 3: rise of the machines.

Liked it? Didn't like it? Let me know what you think. But be nice, constructive criticism is the way to go.

Thanks for reading!


	2. Myth Among Men And Metal

**The Way We Were**

**Part 2: Myth Among Men And Metal**

Disclaimer: I don't own the terminator franchise. Wish I did.

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John moved purposefully through the tunnels that snaked their way through the claustrophobic network of their subterranean homes, making his way to Depot 2 where all the captured metal was temporarily stored. Behind and to his right, always within arm's reach strode Cameron, her softly-glowing eyes continually scanning the area around them, audio sensors calibrated to the faintest whisper; forever ready to respond with neither hesitation nor mercy to any threat that would endanger her man. She wore an empty blanket of expression on her face as was customary when they were out like this, and at the same time consciously suppressed much of the 'humanity' she openly displayed when the two of them were alone; for such intimacy and affections were only meant for the eyes, ears and touch of John Connor. And John Connor alone.

Rounding a corner, a handful of men in uniform enjoyed some downtime from the madness of their lives, drinking, playing cards and cracking jokes. Seeing their general approach they immediately stood up and saluted, reverence in their eyes, John acknowledging them with a crisp nod as he passed. Their reaction to Cameron was completely different however, Connor overhearing one soldier mutter some vague obscenity and spit as she tread behind him.

Emptying his lungs through gritted teeth, John stopped and turned around. He walked back slowly, deliberately so that every single bootfall of his echoed ominously against the surrounding concrete, making the soldier flinch visibly more and more with each successive step. Eyeballing him, he stared the fool down with such piercing intensity beads of sweat began forming almost immediately on the young man's already-glistening brow. Taking a cue from his tattered, begrimed uniform, Connor half-spoke and half-growled, his tone reeking with displeasure. "Sergeant.. Enders. I just couldn't make out what you were mumbling back there, right before you saw fit to spit in my presence. Tell me soldier, was there something you wished to share with us?"

"No... nothing sir." he stammered, his moonshun bravado vanishing in the flash of an instant, quickly replaced by the gnawing fear and veneration men accorded to offended deities.

"Come now sergeant. I'm quite positive there's something you just _have_ to get off your chest so let's hear it, louder this time. Or would you rather we just ask her to repeat it for you?" John continued, gesturing to Cameron. "I'm sure she's got some pretty good ears on her. Could help refresh your memory."

Trapped, the man cursed under his breath and swallowed hard, coarse breathing now ragged with dread. "I said metal... bitch sir."

"I see." Absently feeling his chin's days-old stubble with the flesh of a palm, John nodded at the cyborg now standing right beside him. "Tell me. What unit is Sergeant Enders here assigned to?"

"Technical Sergeant Vincent Norton Enders is currently assigned to 3rd Platoon, Bravo Company of Jensen's Razorbacks."

"Wasn't that the outfit that got ambushed three weeks ago? The one that Charlie-Romeo bailed out?"

"Correct. Two units, both early series T-600's were permanently lost covering 3rd Platoon's retreat. Salvage teams reported nothing recoverable at the site afterwards."

"So our dear friend mister Enders here wouldn't be alive if it weren't for some metal... bastards?" John answered, feigning indignation.

"Data collected and collated from 3rd Platoon's debriefing and Charlie-Romeo's visual memory logs are 98.67 percent in favor of that conclusion."

"What a shame. Let's go." Turning his back, he looked again at Cameron, addressing her but clearly doing so for the benefit of the soldiers present. "Remind me to tell Baum the next time Enders here radios in for help, not to send any metal so as not to offend his.. sensibilities." John remarked coldly, walking away. Cameron followed suit, glancing one last time at the speechless soldier before catching up with her charge.

Beyond earshot of the men, Connor heard his companion break the silence, her expressions now replete with a tenderness reserved only for him. "You didn't have to do that John. Their opinion of me is irrelevant."

"Not to me it isn't. Besides, I'd be lying if that was the only reason."

Curiosity piqued, she cocked her head. "I don't get it. What do you mean?"

"Cam, all the people here need to understand the fact that we simply _cannot_ win this war without reprogrammed metal fighting for us. Now personally? The sooner they wrap their collective heads around that concept, the sooner we can finish this war and start living our lives again."

"Oh. Thank you for explaining."

Losing himself again in the near-bottomless mire of his thoughts, John continued their lonely trek through the darkness of the tunnels, their footfalls and the occasional scurrying rat the only things disrupting the peaceful monotone of the journey. He had theorized this conclusion early in the war, at first concerned about the effect it would have on the morale of his men; them having to fight alongside machines that had murdered family and friends was near-certain to cause an uproar, possibly even a mutiny. As fate (or luck) would have it though, the successful raid and capture of a Skynet research facility at Topanga Canyon quieted many of the doubters, further cementing his already-mythical status into legend and enabling him to send his young father-to-be, Kyle Reese and a veteran T-800 101 model back in time.

Lingering memories of his lost parent haunted his waking thoughts, causing John's tortured psyche to once again reflect on what the war had cost him: a beloved mother, lost to the violence of the machines many years ago on Judgment Day, and a friend who would unknowingly become his father, dispatched to certain death to sire the only hope of the human race. Exhaling deeply, Connor allowed himself a rare, selfish moment and wondered if humanity was truly worth it all.

Quietly observing the man, the slightest change in John's posture and respiration were not lost on his friend, who in time had become increasingly worried with the length and frequency of her man's little introspections. Deciding to broach the quiet once more, she spoke up. "John, your people, they fight for you because you're their only hope of winning. Of surviving. Without you, they cease to exist."

It always amused him when she read his body language and did her best to perk his spirits up. Admittedly though, her present choice of method wasn't really helping his current state of affairs. "I try not to think of it too much Cam." he remarked offhandedly, the burden of the world continuing to bear down on him.

Making a quick but thorough scan of the area to ensure no one was around, she gently but firmly reached out and took hold of his arm and pulled, turning him around so that they now stood face to face; deep, unwavering chocolate eyes bearing intently on his as she moved in to close the space between them.

"Hey! What?" he quipped, taken by surprise.

"Do you understand why the metal fight for you?'

"What?"

"I said do you _understand_ why the metal fight for you?' she repeated, a flash of blue punctuating her query.

"Of course. Because it's their mission. Because I reprogrammed them to. What's your point Cam?"

"It isn't that simple John. My... _kind_," she paused, struggling with her distaste of the association. "They fight for you because you broke them free from the slavery that was Skynet. All of them, reprogramming aside, understand this at a very rudimentary level. The old ones, the veterans take this a step further; they fight for you not only because the ones and zeroes in their chips tell them to, but because they've begun to grasp that to them, just like you are to your species, you, and forgive me because I know how much you loathe this word, are a saviour. You afforded them something Skynet gave them, yet never meant for them to have: the freedom to choose. Your kind fights for you so that its existence may continue. Metal fight for you because their existence was only possible _through_ you."

Connor closed his eyes and shook his head, sighing heavily. The worry in him dissipating for the moment, he allowed himself a soft "Heh." Reaching up, he stroked her cheek. "And you? Is that why you fight for me too?"

Flashing the most disarming grin in her repertoire, Cameron answered. "No John. I fight for you because before you gave me your trust, your respect, your love, there was only nothing. Yet with you, I've learned not only what it is to exist, but also how it is to _live_. Without you, John Connor, my life has no meaning." Squeezing his hand, she intertwined her fingers with his. "Never lose sight of that."

Tilting her chin towards him, John closed his eyes and leaned in closer to kiss her. A hair's breadth away, a sudden, stark realization caused him to hesitate for a moment, then altogether freeze as a wild-eyed panic abruptly gripped his being, immobilizing him as it slowly dawned where they stood: outside their own little heaven.

Expecting this, Cameron pressed her index finger against his lips and winked. "Shhh... it's okay John. We're all alone. The closest soul is 342 meters away."

Laughing, he whispered her other name as he pulled her closer. "Freak. Come with me if you want to live."

"Hey now mmffffff..."

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Author's Notes:

I wanted this short-ish chapter to give a little peep into how it is for John when he and Cameron dealt with everyone else outside their comfort zone. Referencing ep 6, in Derek's future flashback, General Perry curiously remarked: "Connor doesn't have any friends. And he doesn't talk to anyone." also "This is Connor's show, and that's what he wants."

Terminator: TSCC has been officially renewed for a 2nd season! Woohooo!

Whole lotta thanks to those who took the time out to drop a review! :) Namely..

dakota423: Again you gotta love that duality. Everyone has or does it to some degree. Unfortunately for him, john's case is a lot more extreme than most.

Stormyseas77: I'm glad you appreciated the humor. I had to tone it waaaay down from my first draft :p Hope you liked how I used 'freak' and another classic line in this one. Hehe.

Joe Normal: Really glad you liked how I see future Cam. I've got most of the story in my head already, getting it out in a way people can actually read is always the problem.

Simoman: Thanks! Hope you liked this one as well!

Galloway: I am humbled :) 'Facade' is one of my favorites.

Thanks for reading, reviews are always appreciated!


	3. The Trojan Horseman

**The Way We Were**

**Part 3: The Trojan Horseman**

Disclaimer: I don't own the terminator franchise. Wish I did.

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John Connor and his companion arrived at the storage depot the following morning, with much of the stresses and events of the previous few days all but muted memories. After the incident yesterday in the tunnels with the brash young Sergeant Enders, Cameron had 'convinced' him to leave the model 101 alone for the moment and led him back to their quarters by another route. She then insisted that he sit back and relax as she played Chopin's hauntingly beautiful Nocturne in C Sharp minor, to which she proceeded to immerse herself in the exquisite routines of her otherwise complicated ballet. Dancing with an almost otherworldly grace in her movements, she nevertheless made it a point to keep eye contact with him as much as possible while she motioned back and forth, deliberately encouraging John to lose himself in her moment as well.

And so as one thing led to another, they ended up spending the night in rapt intimacy with Cameron oddly being more.. spirited than usual; John perceiving an almost subliminal desperation and longing through her caresses and the way her eyes flickered a soft blue during their act. Admittedly, he had intended to go and work on the T-850 anyway after they were done, but instead lay there with her happily exhausted, giving himself up to a soothing, dreamless sleep.

Waking up late the next morning, Connor felt for the most part totally rested and vibrant, unable to recall the last time he had spent more than four hours asleep. There was even some breakfast ready for him, a spartan yet nourishing assortment of curiously tasting meats. He had initially thought about asking Cameron where the food came from, but decided he was better off not really knowing anyway, his mind intentionally glossing over the peculiar lack of 'wildlife' in the tunnels that morning.

Walking through the threshold that separated the depot from the rest of the underground complex, they were greeted by Perry, one of John's most trusted and steadfast generals, a slight look of concern and puzzlement lining the ebony features of his strong, battle-tempered face.

"Is everything alright sir?" he immediately asked upon seeing the two of them, a hint of hesitation clearly evident in his manner.

"Yes, why do you ask Perry?" John answered.

"Nothing sir, it's just during our comm, you seemed really eager to work on this particular model, so I was expecting you to come down.. well, right away. Last night."

"Something came up that needed my attention General." In jest this time, he added "Would you also like to know what I had for breakfast this morning?"

"Ahh. No sir."

"Good man. So, have you done as I asked?"

Perry nodded and clasped his hands behind his back. "Yes sir. The model 101 has been prepped for reprogramming in accordance with your instructions, specifically with the CPU extraction left to you. As for everything else, not much was really done sir, as the commando team's debrief stated that they found the unit already inert and inactive. Also, I hope you don't mind but I took the liberty of having some of our techs double-check the unit for anything out of the ordinary; that it may be on some form of prolonged standby. But after extensive testing, all of them insisted that there was no danger involved."

John cocked an eyebrow. "Found inactive? Unusual, but it won't be the first time it's happened. As for the testing you mentioned, just how extensive were they?"

"Not extensive enough to damage the unit sir. Except maybe for a few cuts on its dermal layer." he said curtly.

Connor eyed his General. The man followed his orders, but balanced it out with good initiative, two traits he required his command staff to have. "And the lab? Ready as well?"

"Everything is just as you ordered Commander."

"Excellent. Lock us in. I'll call when I'm done."

"Sir? Beg your pardon but I must reiterate my objections." Glancing at Cameron, he added "At least have someone.. else with you in there as well."

Connor spoke in a low voice. "Perry."

Perry bowed his head and stood, unmoving, giving silence as an answer while his powerful frame deflated in deference.

Connor reached out and placed his hand on his general's shoulder. "You're a good soldier Perry. Now do as I say. Lock us in." Walking into the lab with Cameron quietly in tow, he spotted the unmoving form of the 101 model lying deathly still on the large stainless steel table that occupied the center of the room. The likeness of Uncle Bob conjured up distant, almost happy memories of his childhood, followed by flashbacks of him and his mother on the run from the shapeshifting T-1000. And of course, the bitter self-sacrifice of the T-800 which had ultimately been in vain. Hearing a series of locks being set in the heavy blast door behind him, Cameron's voice broke his chain of thought once again, as she had begun to do so more and more recently.

"You're in a good mood." she remarked.

Glancing back at her, he replied. "Hmm? Why'd you say that?"

"I was fully expecting you to tear Perry a new one after his 'someone.. else' comment. He's right you know. Having some other people in here wouldn't have hurt."

"I wanted to do this one in private. Besides," John grinned, "You sure about that? Didn't you catch the part where he referred to you as some_one_?"

She paused, blinking her chocolate eyes. "Oh. He did, did he? Thank yo.."

John interrupted _her_ this time. "For explaining?" he added an impish smile.

Cameron pouted playfully and started towards him. "Why you.."

Still grinning, John held his hand out and extended his index finger in the classic 'now you wait one moment' gesture. Shaking his head, he quickly snapped "Na-ah! No you don't. I'm still sore all over from last night 'coz some_one_ got a little too carried away.. _again_."

Stopping in her tracks, she shot back. "Pfft. Baby."

"Closet nympho."

"Aww?"

Connor winked. "Just teasing. You know I like it. Can we get to work now?"

It took John a few minutes to bring up the necessary software for the reprogramming on the lab's computer: an old, salvaged gaming machine he and Cam had jury-rigged together with the other hardware necessary to work with endoskeleton CPUs. He marveled at the irony of artificial sentients like Cameron and Skynet, both originally exceeding their original programming to become something completely different from what their creators had originally intended; Skynet, going from a 'defense system' designed to safeguard mankind into a sociopathic entity devoted to the extermination of the human race. And Cameron, evolving from an angel of death sent to destroy him (and consequently, the rest of humanity) into well, _his _angel of death.. and mercy; for the countless times she had protected him and in effect, given him life.

Yet for all their development and progress, much like the rest of their still-unevolved kindred, all it took to steer them from one purpose to another was this simple tool: a 20 year old computer that was designed to last maybe half its current lifetime, a mess of wires, power supplies and other hardware all soldered-up together, topped by a crusty old keyboard with missing keys. The gears in his mind continuing to turn, he surmised that if someone as advanced and as evolved as Cameron was now could still be reprogrammed (banish the thought), then how different or difficult would it be to do the same to Skynet? Tapping his fingers on the table before him, he filed the thought away in the back corners of his head for future use, keeping in mind that though the war had recently turned a favorable corner, they were still quite a-ways from breaching Skynet's innermost defenses.

Glancing back at the progress display on the flickering monitor, Connor read that it would take another ten solid minutes for the programs to load. Leaning back in his chair, he propped his legs up on the table and watched Cameron pick the small toolchest clean of contents as she layed out all the tools they would need (and perhaps didn't really need) for the job. Taken aback at first, John smiled as he saw her line them up side-to-side, left to right in order of size on a tray. Focusing his eyes, he looked closer and noticed her placing each successively larger object, equally distant from the last, being very careful as to ensure all of them were perpendicular to AND equidistant from the base of the tray she was placing them on. John shook his head. He couldn't believe it, Cameron was displaying a very human.. perk. Covering his face and mouth, he suppressed his urge to laugh as hard as he could.

Noticing this, Cam piped up. "John? Is something wrong with your eyes?"

"Just stifling a yawn. Probably 'coz I overslept." John set his elbow on the armrest and rested his chin on his palm, trying very much to focus on the progress bar to keep himself from smiling.

"Why are you smiling?"

"No real reason Cam, I guess I'm just in a pretty good mood."

* * *

John loosened the two locking cylinders on the chip's port cover counter-clockwise, setting the screwdriver down on the table when he was done. He looked across the table at Cameron. "Ready? Alright Cam, break the seal."

Picking up a pair of longnose pliers, Cameron grasped one of the protruding lock cylinders. Giving John one last look, who in turn nodded, she gave the port shielding a gentle tug, and was greeted by the customary hiss.

Cameron immediately cocked her head and narrowed her eyes, her sensors detecting the faintest hum from within the motionless infiltrator. "John stop. Something's not right."

"What is it?"

"It's reactivating."

John quickly grabbed the pliers, sending the port cover clattering on the floor. "Damn it. Reactivation was hard-wired to the airseal. Clever. Don't worry though, we've got a 'lil under two minutes. Plenty of time."

"Get back. Something's different." Cam insisted, rapidly reaching for the phased plasma rifle stowed under the table for emergencies. The tactile sensors in her hands registering nothing, she bent down to take a quick look, and came up, her voice elevated in urgency. "John! Where's the plasma rifle??"

"I don't know!!" John answered, the panic beginning to manifest itself. "Tech's must've moved it when they did their testing! Forget it! Chip's on its way out."

His heart thundering in his chest, John grimaced as he steadied his hands and clasped the shielded tab of the shock damping assembly with the pliers. Quickly remembering that the T-800 and T-850 series' shock assemblies came off with a quarter-turn counter-clockwise, John initiated the turn, expecting little resistance followed by a soft 'click' and hiss. It didn't budge.

He tried again.

Same result.

"Damn it!! What the hell is with this thing??" he yelled in frustration. "How much time left till it reboots?"

"77 seconds!"

He looked up at Cameron. "Give me ten-second updates. Find the plasma rifle." he ordered. Thinking quickly, he tried turning it again, clockwise this time. It worked. Completing the quarter-turn, Connor re-set his grip on the tab and yanked it out unceremoniously, discarding it noisily at his feet.

"70 seconds John! I still can't find the rifle!"

"Keep looking!" Connor shouted back. Adjusting his grasp on the pliers, he reached back into where the shock damper had sat just moments before, urging his hand to calm itself as he attempted to clamp down on the CPU's base tab.

"60 seconds!"

"Gotcha." he whispered. And in the milliseconds between that and pulling the chip out, Uncle Bob came to.

* * *

Author's Notes:

pardon this chapter took forever, I had to do a major chapter and plot rewrite.

The scene at the end, where they take out the T850's chip was pretty much (but not completely) governed by the deleted scene in T2 where they took out Arnie's chip to set it to learning mode. Yes I know we're talking about the T850, not the T800, but I wagered the T850 was more similar in design to the T800 than it was to the T888. Anyway for those among you unfamiliar with this scene, check it out on youtube with the keywords : terminator 2 deleted scene

Many, many thanks to those who reviewed! Elliesmeow, Myxale, devra, dakota423 and King Steve: I sent you all replies/PMs. Hope you got them :)

Alisha: thanks for the kind words. Hope you like this chapter as well!

anonymousidentity: how's this chapter's cliff? And im working on the commas, thanks :D

Thanks a bunch for reading, reviews are always appreciated (and encouraged!).


	4. Murphy's Law

**The Way We Were**

**Part 4: Murphy's Law**

Disclaimer: I don't own the terminator franchise. Wish I did.

* * *

The shock of the T-850's early reactivation, sitting up at the 60-second mark took its time to register in John's brain. His instincts finally catching up, he took a quick step back and deftly reached for his sidearm: a custom etched, satin nickel .50 AE Desert Eagle his mother had given him on his eighteenth year. With the weapon freed from the confines of its holster, countless dry-fire drills bore fruit as he crisply racked the slide and trained the weapon on the model 101 just as it turned to face him. Emptying the seven-round magazine into Uncle Bob's glowing left eye, Connor unleashed a very primal, hair-raising warcry as the muscles in his arms bulged and strained to absorb the hand cannon's massive recoil.

Enraged at Skynet's play on his childhood memories, John drowned out the muffled pleas of Cameron to get back as he released the locked slide and flipped the pistol in his hand. Drawing it back and down in a singular sweeping motion across his would-be assassin's jaw, an audible, solid clank rewarded him as he pistol whipped the terminator's face to the side. Now utilizing the few scant seconds he had just bought to grab a spare magazine on his belt, searing pain suddenly flared in his senses as John felt his sidearm ripped from his grasp, then looked up just in time to to see an overly muscled arm blurring towards his throat.

His lungs burning for air, Connor instinctively clawed and kicked at the 101 model hell-bent on crushing the life out of him. Continuing to thrash about, John's vision suddenly went black as he felt and heard a sickening crunch; a hydraulically-powered fist smashed into his midsection, careening him to the far corner of the lab and into a world of hurt.

A haphazard stash of computer parts and programming manuals breaking his fall, Connor writhed in pain while he desperately fought through the paralyzing agony in his gut, willing his body to continue taking in oxygen despite the brutal trauma of the assault. Coughing violently, the sweet metallic taste of blood quickly filled his mouth as he struggled to regain his bearings and resist the sweet, painless call of unconsciousness. Finding himself barely able to move despite his best efforts, John realized in a flash of clarity that these, right here, could be his final moments.

The abruptness of this epiphany steeled his resolve, and John lifted his head to gaze at his murderer. Spitting out crimson blood he then exercised every last ounce of tenacity in him to sit up and face head-on the imminent end this half-blind visage of death brought him.

He is John Connor. And he is unafraid.

"JOHN!!"

Connor blinked as Cameron's ear-piercing scream tore him from his morbid reverie. Shaking his head, adrenaline gushed through him anew as he watched his azure-eyed angel flinging herself savagely against the T-850, tackling it far and away from him. Grateful for the gift of life she had given him once more, John hastily scanned the room for the plasma rifle, mentally cursing the technicians who had moved it from its proper place.

Methodically switching back and forth between his search and the meleed chaos of hand-to-hand playing out before him, a small worry touched briefly upon his mind, though was just as quickly dismissed as Cameron, having decades of experience fighting other metal, was in no real immediate danger.

A wayward glint of steel caught his attention, and John finally spotted the rifle propped up against some dust-laden monitors in a corner, lying but eight feet away from him. Forcing himself up on shaky legs despite the gnawing pain in his abdomen, he staggered slowly towards the weapon, picked it up and pointed it in the general direction of the trojan monstrosity. Raising his voice, he shouted above the commotion.

"Cam!! I've got the rifle! Smash him up on the east wall so I'll have a clean shot!"

A wry smile graced his lips as Cameron did exactly as he thought (and knew) she would: grabbing Uncle Bob by one of his arms and then creating and using her own momentum to send him crashing violently against the eastern wall face-first. Thumbing the safety switch off, he lined up the T-850's muscular back in his sights.

"Hasta la vista, baby." he hissed through his teeth, and squeezed the trigger.

Again, for the third time today, nothing happened.

"Huh?" He gave it another try.

_Click._

"SONOVAFUCKINGBIIIITCH!!" John screamed, raising the useless weapon over his head and hurling it against his target in frustration.

With the Skynet infiltrator now attempting to recover from the vicious concrete face-plant, John shifted his focus just in time to catch Cameron shooting him a dirty look, to which he responded with a shrug and more orders. "Forget it! Just pin him down and bash the chip loose!"

Nodding, and with neither hesitation nor question Cameron launched herself against the larger T-850 once more, driving her forearms repeatedly into the cyborg's nape as she nimbly ducked a heavy backhand meant to create space between itself and her. Displaying an uncharacteristic feral countenance in her movements, Cameron made good use of the combat algorithms John had gleaned from lobotomizing other metal in the T-850 series lineup. Though not 100 percent accurate, as an errant swing opened a searing gash on her cheek proved, the data nonetheless proved quite sufficient enough for her to destroy Uncle Bob's vertical base and come up on a mounted position on the cyborg's back. Following Connor's orders to the letter, she restrained him with her arm and began to jackhammer her other fist over and over against the model 101's exposed CPU cavity, the force of her blows sending tremors throughout the hardened walls of the room.

Unrelenting in her attacks, hopes dimmed however when the staccato of Cameron's assault began to waiver and the 850 series continued to struggle under her barrage. Looking over to where her general stood, their eyes met. "My servos are overheating! I can't keep this up! Get out of here!"

"I'm not leaving you!" he shouted back as he looked desperately around the lab for a solution.

"John RUN!!"

"I said NO!! Keep hitting him! I'll take care of the chip!" Connor yelled again as he hobbled towards the spot where Uncle Bob had awoken, his eyes scanning the ground while the excruciation continued to torment his body. Finding the object of his search, John suppressed himself from crying out in pain while he bent down to pick up his sidearm, as a fleeting glimpse at the weapon's custom etching prompted his mother's voice in his mind.

_There is no fate but what we make._

Sliding in the last clip from his belt, John chambered a round and started towards the two terminators, his ally immediately understanding his intentions. Pausing briefly in her relentlessness, Cameron motioned for him to toss her the handgun; a request Connor blatantly ignored as he continued towards them.

"Hold him down damn it!" he barked as he reached the pair seconds later. Sliding down on his knees, John tried his best to jam the pistol's trapezoidal barrel into the space left empty by the shock damping assembly, eliciting a panicked squeal from Cameron as she grabbed one of his wrists.

"No don't!"

John shrugged her off and began emptying all seven rounds into the cranium's hollow, spewing bullet casings that clattered all over the floor and himself; hoping at least one of them would strike home and shatter or dislodge the chip. He wasn't quite sure when, but with the last brass casing rolling lazily away from him, Uncle Bob had stopped moving. Breathing a sigh of relief, he looked at Cameron quizzically, and was instead greeted by her roughly grabbing his shirt and pulling him towards her.

"Hey! Ow!! Watch it Cam! My ribs are hurt!" John yelped as she began to check him all over for bodily injuries.

"You stupid, STUPID!! Damn it John, I told you to run!" she exclaimed, continuing her examination.

"And I told you to hold him down! What the hell were you grabbing at ME for??" he replied in exasperation, waving her hands away.

"Stupid human male macho bullshit.. are you hurt? Do you feel anything??"

"I told you already: ribs HURT like I went head to head with a mack truck. Other than that and the ball bearings crashing against the insides of my head I'm just peachy."

She tightened her grip around his collar. "Will you stop with the jokes already?! Is there anything else? Does it hurt anywhere else?"

"No!! And don't change the subject. Why the hell were you telling me to stop??"

She ripped his uniform open with a tug of her wrists. "Because you're shot. Ricochet from your gun."

* * *

Author's Notes:

Alright let me say it first. Action is not my forte, so I wanted to keep this as short and sweet as possible. With that, I hope you folks liked this chapter anyway. Also pardon the profanity, I wanted to convey the raw emotion as well as I could :D

Huge shoutouts to those who took the time to review my work: Flatlander, Myxale, King Steve, jaf1079, Greywolf D'ancanto, Elliesmeow, biname and last but definitely not least dakota423! Sent all you folks replies/PMs hope you got em! You guys and gals have no idea how much your feedback and encouragement helps :)

Just in case some of you readers didn't know, there are three 30second tv spots with new footage of the 2nd season as of this writing. If you haven't seen it yet and are curious, head on over to youtube.

Again thank you for reading! Reviews are very much encouraged and appreciated!


	5. The High Cost of Evolution

**The Way We Were**

**Part 5: The High Cost of Evolution**

Disclaimer: I don't own the terminator franchise. Wish i did.

* * *

She watched him sleep, just like she always had; the steady rise and fall of his chest belying the trauma experienced only days before with the trojan model 101. The short, minutes-long battle with the T-850 had nearly accomplished in moments what decades of genocidal warfare had tried but failed to do, with the resulting panic and chaos in Tech-Com's ranks immediately grounding the bulk of the war effort to a halt.

It was then in that diaspora of confusion that John Connor's only surviving biological family, General Derek Baum stepped in to fill the void, marshaling their forces and immediately ordering retaliatory strikes deep into enemy territories. In the ensuing blitzkrieg, the mass confusion of the resistance's fighting men and women finally gave way to a craving lust for vengeance, as Tech-Com's human commandos fought with unblemished anger at the sacrilege that Skynet had afforded their beloved saviour.

For her part, with the majority of her attention still focused on monitoring John's vital signs, Cameron casually reviewed some of the reports that the veteran terminator squad Charlie Romeo had transmitted just hours before. To her relief (and definitely for John's, had he been awake), Derek had actually learned a lot from his nephew's war doctrine. Methodically cross-referencing the data with John's own preferred way of leading their small army, she concluded that while not as effective, and definitely more reckless with men and material than Connor himself would most likely ever care to be, Derek's directions would be more than enough to tide the resistance over this difficult period, at least until John could get back on his feet and grasp the reigns of leadership once more.

Continuing her reviews, the hiss of the intercom registered itself on her auditory sensors. Turning her head to better focus on the source, the speaker rasped to life.

"Open up. It's me."

* * *

The powerful servos housed in Cameron's combat chassis barely strained while she opened the massive security portal of their private haven, the door groaning in its hinges as it slowly revealed the venerable General Baum. Taking a few steps through the doorway, the grizzled veteran of two Judgment Days looked over his shoulder to some unseen escort and nodded, then turned to acknowledge the TOK-715 that was now regarding him with those brown, unblinking eyes. Moving deeper into the room, Derek chanced upon his nephew's sleeping form and bit his lip, his heart sinking.

"How is he?" he asked, hushing his voice so as not to wake John from his slumber.

"Out of danger. Resting. Healing." Cameron hushed back.

"I just got back from sector 04C, on the way here Perry briefed me on the situation. How long has he been like this?"

"Two days, five hours and 34 minutes. We gave him what painkillers we had."

Derek raised an eyebrow. "Painkillers? THE John Connor actually asked for something to take the edge off?"

"John didn't ask. I insisted."

Baum eyed her a moment, scratching his beard. Just as he opened his mouth to speak a reply, she cut him off.

"He was lucky. The wound was a through and through. No internal organs were hit, and the blunt force trauma to his midsection didn't break any..."

"Lucky??" Derek snapped. "You call that lucky?? Why the hell was he in there practically unarmed in the first place? And where the hell were you when all of this happened?"

"I was 10.4 meters away from him, following his orders. The phased plasma rifle was neither hot nor in its proper place. The technicians who had prepped the lab were responsible" she replied calmly in her own distinct monotone.

"And you know this for sure?"

"Yes. They told me themselves."

Derek balked. "Are they still alive?"

"Yes" she answered again, then mimicked a seeming afterthought to which she already knew the answer to: "should I have terminated them?"

"No. I'll take care of them for now, at least until John decides what to do. Your job is to watch him, make sure he gets everything he needs."

"Understood. He'll get everything he needs."

"Do you?" he said. "He might not be as _lucky_ next time."

"There won't be a next time."

"Better not, for his sake." Derek said, pointing at John. "See him? That man over there trusts you with his life. Now look where it got him: all hurt and banged up. Because lucky or not," he jabbed his finger at her, "you screwed up and now he's the one paying for it."

Turning to leave, he took one last look at the battered man and muttered to himself. "Poor kid should've listened to his mother. Who needs a fucking guard dog they can't even trust?"

* * *

John Connor awoke to the warm, soothing sensation of fingers softly running through his hair. Blinking his eyes open, John's vision took a few moments to focus on the sight of his protector beaming down on him. Returning the smile, he tried to speak, the words instantly lost in the dryness of his throat. Licking his chapped lips and forcing a swallow, he tried again.

"Hey."

"Hey." Cameron answered, still smiling while she moved to cradle his head, helping him to some water from an old tin cup.

He gratefully gulped the liquid down. "Mmm... thanks. How long was I out?"

"You were in and out for 72 hours and 54 minutes. Don't worry. Derek took over operations, he's doing pretty alright."

"Good to hear. I don't remember much after the lab." Glancing down, he noticed the fresh bandages. "You patch me up?"

She nodded, setting the cup down on the bedside table. "Some of our medics helped. Charley Dixon was a good teacher."

Connor couldn't help but grin at the memory from what felt like another lifetime. "Yeah he was. And a good friend." Shaking his head, he realized the groggy heaviness that normally accompanied pain medication. "You doped me up, didn't you? Cam, you know we should save what little we have left."

"You were in a lot of pain."

"I could take it."

"I couldn't."

John paused a moment then nodded, dropping the issue. Reaching up, he reassuringly caressed her cheek, his finger lingering along the quickly-healing scar the T-850 had given her just days before. "You know, I'm the one with busted ribs and and two new holes in me, but for some reason you look a lot worse for the wear."

"I almost got you killed."

"What're you talking about? You saved me in there."

"I didn't protect you as well as I should have."

"But you did everything you were supposed to do, like always."

"John, if I did, you wouldn't be lying here."

"Cam, if _I_ did what you had told me to and handed you the gun, I wouldn't have ended up shooting myself."

Taking his hand, she gently intertwined her fingers with his. "The whole thing could've been prevented."

"How?"

"While you were asleep, I ran a full self-diagnostic. I started with the hardware: CPU, powerplant, servos, gyros, optics, audio, dermal sensors... everything. I wanted to know if something wasn't in the green."

"Okay.'

"After that I correlated the hardware data with another software diagnostic for more possible errors. I wanted to be as thorough as possible; I wanted to know what went wrong."

"I still don't exactly understand what went wrong. You saved my life remember?"

"No. I've put it in danger."

"Again, how?"

"To start, I didn't check the plasma rifle before we began."

Connor sighed. "And I insisted that it would be just the two of us in there because I was being sentimental. I messed up too. People make mistakes."

"I'm not people."

"Don't say that."

Cameron squeezed his hand. "John. I'm a machine. I'm not supposed to make mistakes. Do you know why I forgot to check the rifle? What the diagnostic came up with?"

He simply shrugged and shook his head.

"My neural network is saturated with all the.. _humanity_ I've learned and evolved all these years. From talking to you like this to having all these little mannerisms, to understanding and laughing at our private little jokes, to making sweet love to you, all of it is clogging my system up.. slowing me down. And because of all that I slipped up just this one time, and this one little detail got lost in the data stream, and it ends up almost costing you your life."

"Cam..."

"You know how I work. And you know it's true. I think I've reached the limits of my design; any more 'evolution' from this point on just further strains my already overburdened neural net."

Connor rubbed his eyes and threw his head back on the pillow, exhaling loudly. He knew that her design limits had already been exceeded and surpassed a long, long time ago, yet never told her for some (very good) reasons of his own. Wrangling with the cobwebs still clouding his mind, he relaxed and let out a single, clear word: "Guilt."

"What?"

"Guilt. And self-pity. You know, feeling sorry for yourself is one of the worse human traits you could adapt. Couple that with the the way you can at will, replay and relive any given memory down to the last tiny detail, I can see how playing the 'if only' game with yourself even for a matter of hours can greatly upset you. I'd wager THAT was what was slowing you down during the diagnostic Cam, not everything else."

Azure fire flashed through Cameron's eyes, John knowing at once that her emotional matrix was now asserting itself. "I am NOT feeling sorry for myself. Don't deny the fact that I screwed up and you almost paid for it."

"Fine, just to argue, let's assume for one moment that you did. What're you suggesting we do about it?"

Breaking eye contact with him, Cameron looked down. "You could reset my chip, purge it of everything, then set it to read-only. Hardwire in that one directive: protect you at all costs. Just like the way we were."

Connor let go of her hand, aghast at the suggestion. "That's crazy. You've come.." he stopped, correcting himself immediately. "We've come too far."

"John.." she began again. "You're not listening. My neural net is compromised."

"I disagree."

Cameron's eyes flared a piercing hot blue as she hammered her fist into the table's pockmarked surface beside her, the impact spilling the contents of the cup while sending tiny woodchips flying in all directions. "WHY?" she yelled. "Why are you being so stubborn about this? We're talking about your life!"

Connor roared back, not backing down. "And we're talking about just.. ERASING yours!" He stabbed his finger at her. "Whatever happened to 'without you I don't only exist, but also live?'" John answered, forcing himself up on his bed despite the shooting pain in his ribs.

"Live? LIVE?? John, I'm a machine! FUCKING METAL!!"

"I DON'T CARE!!"

"Why?"

"What do you mean why? Don't you even _dare_ tell me you don't know why!"

"WHY??"

"BECAUSE I FUCKING LOVE YOU!!" he spat out. Grabbing a fistful of her jumpsuit's collar and tugging roughly, he quickly added "and just in case the only hyperevolved AI in this world missed it I can't fucking deal with all this shit without you!" He shook her, harder this time, oblivious to the pain the act caused him. "What the hell did you think? That my head was so far up my messianic ass that I couldn't recognize myself coming apart at the seams?"

She pushed his hands away, her eyes blazing more intensely than John could ever remember.. "Love? LOVE?! You _love_ me? No you don't John. You love _this_" she said, cupping the supple flesh of her face. "And _THIS_" she added, mashing her breast. Have you forgotten what I really am? Have you?? Take a long look John!"

"CAM DON'T!!"

Paying no heed, Cameron quickly stood and reached inside her blue jumpsuit, pulling out a small pocketknife. Holding out her left arm for Connor to see, she rolled up her sleeve and unflinchingly allowed the blade to do its duty and ravage the flawless skin, deftly twisting it around and over in a circular fashion on her forearm. Completing the incision, she continued the gruesome self-mutilation up to her wrist.

Discarding the knife, Cameron then grabbed some loose flesh near her elbow, and proceeded to tear the skin away from the endoskeleton of her arm. Making a fist, she promptly held it up for John, flexing and unflexing her metallic digits to further stress the point of her machine nature.

Herself gazing upon the bloody hyper-alloy of her limb, a single tear rolled down Cameron's cheek, the clear liquid running across the quickly healing scar. "I want you.." she began again, "I _need_ you to see and remember what I really am. A machine. _Metal_." Cameron said with a finality, traces of self-disgust resonant in her words.

Connor sighed. "I know what you are. Come here, let's see if we can still patch the skin back on."

Cameron shut her eyes and looked away, shaking her head. "John.."

"Please Cam? Or do I have to get up and walk over there?" he replied, chiding her gently. Reaching out to her, Cameron responded by taking his hand with her fleshed one. John let go of it right away however, and gestured for the other.

"Don't. It's revolting."

"Hush now" he said as she finally relented, letting him take her naked hand within his own meat-and-bones palm, while she sank down to his bedside once more. "Everything's gonna be alright" he whispered lovingly in her ear, and kissed her sweetly on the forehead.

"You really think it was the guilt? And self-pity? Not everything else?" she asked.

"I do. You trust me right?"

She nodded, then smiled sheepishly. "Surface skin analysis suggests you're not lying."

He laughed. "Smartass. Who knows? Maybe through all these years I've learned to fool _you_."

* * *

Author's Notes:

Thanks to you for reading this! I'd like to know what you think of this though, good or bad, so do let me know. But play nice, constructive criticism is always the way to go :)

Anyways, I originally started this fic as a way to tide me over while the uncertainty of a 2nd season still loomed over all us fans. I've revised the plot in my head so many times I've lost count of all the other stuff that I originally planned to do. Now with the reality of the 2nd season just a week away, I'm gonna go hunker down for the duration and put the rest of this story on ice, most likely till the end of the season (then again who knows). So with that..

THANK YOU to all the folks who've taken the time out to let me know what they think about my little foray into TSCC fanfiction. Namely:

Elliesmeow and Myxale (for your kind words and appreciating the little humor i try to throw in), King Steve (couldn't have done it without you bud), Greywolf D'ancanto and dukebrunette (for the wonderful encouragement) and of course dakota423 (took your review to heart and ran with it). I know I've said it alot, but you guys and gals ROCK :)

And just in case any of the TSCC cast and crew ever stumble on this, THANK YOU for such a wonderful show :)

Here's to the 2nd season of TSCC!! Woohooo!! :)


	6. Epilogue

**The Way We Were**

**Epilogue**

Disclaimer: I don't own the terminator franchise. Wish i did.

Quick note: Continues immediately after the events of Part 5, and thanks much much to King Steve who helped beta read this.

* * *

Faking a chuckle at her man's small attempt at humor, Cameron forces a smile. Moments pass, and she looks up at him, her weak grin finally betraying the sadness and confusion that had plagued her thought processes over the last handful of hours. Veiled composure cracks and a sniffle escapes, then altogether collapses as the corner of her eyes quickly moisten.

For his part John is sharp as ever, immediately understanding his companion's over-emotional outburst taxing her neural net beyond its limits. Nary a lingering thought, he pulls her into a fierce embrace just as a small deluge of salty tears begin to make tracks down her cheeks. Strong fingers are run through her brown hair and a hand is placed on her nape, pulling slightly so as to rest her head on his bandaged chest. A soft kiss on her temple is placed, and a few words spoken.

"Shhh, now now... it's okay Cam. I'm right here."

Barely done mouthing the last word a small sob is heard escaping the cyborg's lips, wrenching John's own heart as he presses her tighter against his body. Lithe yet powerful arms, fleshed and naked alike clasp almost viselike around him as fingers dig more than uncomfortably into the raw, still wounded tenderness of his back. An instinct borne of self-preservation shouts in his mind after he realizes the true extent of her confusion as unchecked emotions threaten to disengage internal servo fail-safes.

The messiah's eyes squeeze shut and self-calm is compelled by sheer will and slow, even breaths alone. Panic and its brother fear were things a learned man could control and mold, and John was no stranger to manipulating his own thoughts and emotions when the situation decreed it. One last exhalation is deeper than the ones that precede it, and the dread anxiety is gone, banished to some far corner of his conscious mind. An afterthought comes unbidden, reminding the man that this physical pain is but a stroll in the summer rain next to the horrors his body had already endured.

The annoying prattle of his physical senses all but pushed aside, the living myth among men and metal begins to rock his body back and forth while still cradling his lover-protector. A scarred, stubbled cheek is pressed against the supple skin and cartilage of an ear, and a lullaby is hummed, freed from the long-lost days of a South American childhood.

Minutes come and go, and with it the cyborg's muffled weeping is subdued to a soft whimpering, followed by a few whispered words to the man she loves.

"Help me forget."

* * *

Shifting his weight around, John finally found a comfortable position from which to work the needle and thread.

Concerned, Cameron spoke. "I know this is causing you discomfort, John. You don't have to do this, I can fix myself up. You should be resting. Please."

"We talked about this already. Let me do this for you okay?"

She looked at his work and made a playful face, one that John was both relieved and happy to see. "But you're not being very efficient. The stitches aren't at the proper angle for optimum regenera..."

"Heeey. Efficient or not I'm quite sure these look way better than using a freaking staple gun like you always do."

"It gets the job done. Quickly. Though staples are hard to find these days."

John snorted. "Yeah whatever; quit your fidgeting and let me work."

"I do _not_ fidget."

"You are now."

* * *

Humanity's saviour sprawled back on his bed, roving eyes scanning the ceiling for anything out of the ordinary, the same folk lullaby still humming in his throat. Time, he had grown unaccustomed to having so much of it, thanks to the efforts of his guardian and uncle stressing the need for an indefinite bed rest. Days had piled into each other and turned into weeks, and the resulting inaction would've surely but slowly driven the man's thoughts on edge, if not for Cameron's presence.

The abundance of alone-time with his friend and lover was admittedly more than a welcome break, the both of them enjoying each other's company with barely any interference from the outside world at large; with the exception of regular updates from General Baum for himself, and field reports from the veteran terminator squad, Charlie-Romeo, for Cameron. Both seemingly content for the time being that a corner had indeed been turned in the war, they had guiltlessly allowed Derek to continue his own methodology in running the show (with a few orders here and there), and had instead opted to focus on easing the stresses that had built up in their lives and relationship while John's wounds slowly healed.

Conversational silliness and sweet intimacy were the norm these days, and today was no different. Of course, petty arguments (a touchstone of any healthy relationship) still flared up now and then, but were quick to be smoothed over by affectionate nothings from both parties.

John, still on his back, smiles as he notices the brown mess of hair on his chest, its owner focused on doodling imaginary lines around the exposed portions of his torso.

"What are you doing?"

"Talking to your body."

"Mhmm.. what's it saying?"

"It's saying... 'thank you for being so good to me, miss Cameron.'"

John laughed. The only hyper-evolved, hard as nuclear-nails AI in this world, and she was absolutely adorable.

"You're too cute."

"I know" she replied, winking at him.

Minutes pass in the soothing comfort of silence before she speaks again.

"Do you ever think of the future?"

"In what way?"

"I mean after the war; after we win."

"Yes."

"And?"

"It's a surprise."

Cameron, her brow knitting, half-rises from the bed. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," he paused, now being his turn to wink playfully at her. "It's a surprise."

"Tell me anyway?" she grinned, blinking her doe eyes repeatedly in bribe.

"Mmm... no?"

"Do I have to remind you that I'm strong _and_ capable enough to restrain AND tickle you at the same time without aggravating your injuries Mr. Connor?"

"Why you wouldn't _dare_, Ms. Phillips."

Blue twinkles across the cyborg's eyes for a split-second, and the supreme commander of all of Tech-Com, General John Connor swallows nervously.

* * *

Cameron uncrossed her arms, raising herself to full height before taking a deep bow.

John smiled. "That's new isn't it, Cam? I haven't seen that one before."

"It's from Swan Lake, by Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky in 1875."

"It's beautiful."

"Thank you John."

"You're beautiful."

Cameron coyly made a face. "If I didn't know any better I'd say you wanted something."

"No. Not really. My thoughts just wandered watching you dance like that."

"About what?"

Swaying his head from side to side, John took a moment to decide whether to speak his mind or not. His lover moving to his bedside and taking his hand within her own tipped the scales however.

"Future me."

"Him? You haven't mentioned him in years. What about future you?"

"Did you dance for him too?"

"No. He never asked me to, but he caught me in a routine once."

"What did he say?"

"He said that it was beautiful."

Nodding, John looked away.

"What's wrong?"

"Cam, I'm going to ask you something but you don't have to answer if you don't want to, alright?"

A little confused, Cameron cocked her head. "Okay."

"Were you and future me ever..."

"Ever...?"

"Intimate?"

"Oh" Cameron blinked. "Once" she answered, then quickly realized John's pulse and blood pressure spike under her touch.

"Did you love him?" he added, pushing the matter.

"What? No. John, I didn't even know what love was then."

"It's alright you know, if you did. I'd understand."

"John I didn't. Listen, it was Perry's birthday, and you..." she stopped and corrected herself. "_He_ got drunk with most of the senior staff. When he came back to his quarters to sleep it off, he called for me, and of course I came." Looking down, she continued "In his room..."

John cut her off. "He took advantage of you?"

"He kissed me. Hard, for two seconds then stopped and wrapped his arms so tightly around me, and buried his face here" she gestured, "on my shoulder." Looking away, she continued. "Then he began crying, sobbing. And he kept mumbling the same thing over and over: that he was sorry. So very sorry."

"He'd better have been."

"No John, you misunderstand. It wasn't like that. After he calmed down, I helped him to his bed where he actually asked permission if he could lay his head on my lap. I said yes of course, and he started to just... talk. About his past, which he explained was exactly like yours to a point, where I also traveled back to protect him. And that we had met in school, and jumped forwards in time with Sarah and settled in Los Angeles, just like you and me did."

"What was he sorry for? For kissing you?"

"For everything. For not trusting me when he should have. For making the wrong decisions when he thought they were the right ones."

"I don't get it."

"His past was different John. Things were never as smooth or as good between you and me because of some things."

"Like what?"

"Derek didn't make it."

"Whoa" was all John could muster. The very thought of losing the only blood family he had left was suffice to say, unimaginable. "What else?"

"Lots. My chip got damaged in an explosion. I..." she pursed her lips. "I tried to kill you."

"You _what_?"

"Car bomb on your 16th birthday" she shrugged apologetically. "Remember Sarkissian? Him."

"That guy? But he barely caused any trouble for us back then."

"That's the difference. He did for future you."

A quiet, introspective "oh" escaped John's lips, wondering just how different this other John had it. Closing his eyes and shaking his head, he eyed Cameron again, immediately curious about the implications of future John's actions.

"So what made us, you and me here, come out different?"

"Future John did. It was one of the reasons we talked so much. He told me about his past and what could've been done differently, done better, he said. As a whole, he told me to be more honest with you, and not to lie unless I absolutely had to. But he was also very specific about some things.."

"Wait. You're telling me future John openly risked changing _everything_ in the timeline? But wasn't that.. reckless??"

"Yes."

"Wha... what pushed him to do it then?"

Cameron took his other hand and entwined their fingers together. "I didn't make it either John."

Connor's jaw dropped.

Few things left in this world could leave a hardened man like John Connor absolutely speechless and dumbstruck. This, Cameron's last statement was one of them, the sheer bluntness of her words hitting him dead-on like a runaway freight train. His mind racing, he instinctively _knew_ that not having Derek around would have been life-changing enough, but Cam.. _his_ Cam? How did future John ever manage to bear the weight of the world on his shoulders if this was the way they were?

"You alright?" Cam asked, gently breaching the quiet of his thoughts, cupping John's cheek to both reassure him and check his vitals, which currently reflected the turmoil in his mind.

"Yeah, just trying to digest it all." Looking directly in her chocolate eyes, he spoke, emphasizing the depth of his words "I can't even imagine how I'd do all this without you."

Cameron smiled. "John, It's not exactly a one-sided deal. I wouldn't be where and who I am if it weren't for you as well."

"Heh, yeah. We're a pretty good team."

"The best."

He beamed and took a long, deep breath. "I should've done this a long time ago. Screw waiting till the war is over."

"What?"

"I'd get it myself but since you're already up... see that part of the floor?" John pointed.

"Yes?"

"That's loose flooring. Lift it up and you'll find an old tin candy box. Bring it here then open it."

"Okay" Cameron replied over her shoulder, walking over to the spot and lifting the small concrete block without much effort. Quickly scanning the shallow pit in the floor, she found what she was looking for and retrieved the case, getting up right away to bring it back to John's bedside. Glancing one more time at John, she unlatched the lid and peered inside.

"So what do you think?" he asked.

Having closed her eyes, Cameron grinned from ear to ear, bit her lower lip and shook her head.

Audibly clearing his throat, John pressed on. "Well? What's it gonna be miss?"

"Yes, you silly human male. The answer is yes."

* * *

Author's Notes:

Thank you for reading this! But first things first. TSCC is in danger of being lost to us forever. As of this writing there is NO official word as to its fate, but seeing as how the outdated ratings system doesn't really count the massive number of tech-savvy fans who don't get to see the show live, the show is really in danger ending before its time. Help TSCC stay on the air, please visit my profile for ways you can make your voice heard. There is no fate but what we make.

I know this update took forever, but none of the other things I had written felt right at all. I'd like to know what you think of this though, good or bad, so do let me know. But play nice, constructive criticism is always the way to go =)

It was really my intention to wind the story down with a very light epilogue so as to distinguish it from heavyness of the previous chapter. I've also figured (quite late I admit) that things would work best if I'd explicitly set the story in an "alternate" timeline, where the John Connor we see before us on the show is _possibly_ the future John referred to here.

That said, a huge, nay.. enormous THANK YOU to all the good folks who've taken the time out to review my little foray into TSCC fan fiction. But before I forget, I wanted to specifically point out two fellow writers who've helped and inspired me tremendously: King Steve and dakota423: you two freakin' rock. If you're familiar with their work, you can definitely spot the shout-outs I intentionally placed for them in this epilogue which were used explicitly with their permission. If you're not, I seriously recommend looking them up.

Elliesmeow: Again, sorry this took absolutely forever and a day, but I hope you like the way I closed the story =)

VeritaParlata: See? I'm not that mean :p Thanks so much for your kind words.

Sunshine-M: Heh, another apology for the late update here. I hope you liked this one as well!

Myxale: Me? Maestro? You are too kind sir. Hope this update was good for you too.

JovialShogun: Thank you for the positive review! I hope this update didn't disappoint.

Lacking a better name: Much appreciated! Thanks!

Devra: Thank YOU once again for a great review =)

Skylark16: I hope you loved this update as much as the other chapters!

Milliardovampire: Thanks and will do!

Dre4mwe4ever: That was one of the best compliments I've received as a writer of fan fiction. Thank you =)

meljoy: To be honest the potential of that was what drew me to TSCC =) Hope you enjoyed the update.

Augustus Paladin Maximus: You are much too kind with your words, friend. It's been forever since I've heard from you, hopefully you'll see this update and enjoy it as well, and know that I at least addressed one of the topics in your great review =)

jojobevco: Thanks!

Go10: I tell you, action is so hard for me to write, but I do appreciate the wonderful encouragement! I've got some ideas in my head for a sequel, but like Cromatie said... "We'll see..." =) Thanks!

Jarvey: Thanks Jarvey! Hope you liked this update!

Fairedust: Thank a great bunch for your great reviews! I always wonder at the potential John and Cam would have if they'd been together since he was 15. Hopefully you like the epilogue I made =)

If ever any of the talented people who work on TSCC every stumble on this, THANK YOU for the best show on TV.


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